Dear Diary
by T. Mad Hatter
Summary: To the world, I am a soldier. To myself, I am Nanashi. But when I write to you, diary, I don't know who I am. What left is there to be? Read and review, please.
1. Default Chapter

Dear Journal,                                                                                 Date: Sometime in the present

Quatre gave this to me saying that I have to "evaluate my life and express my emotions". Haha, what an ass! Why doesn't he express his emotions? No one can be that happy and compassionate all of the time and not be a 50 year old grandmother. So that leads me to this: Quatre is a 50 year old woman dressed up as a 17 year old, gay boy who thinks he's Ken. I'll go get Barbie (Duo) and they can have a bloody party. Wahoo. I'll bring the confetti.

All right, so maybe I am a bit cynical. You would be too if you were surrounded by geniuses. Duo is the light-hearted, comedic relief; Heero is the leader, the "perfect soldier"; Quatre is the compassionate bastard who's always there for you; Wufei is the fighter who will never let go, so what the hell am I? Am I the shadowed one? The one who will end up dead in a sewer or crying because he's too weak? Nod boy? Wow, look out for Nod Boy and his mystical nodding powers. Is that all I'm good for?

I don't even bother caring anymore. Yes, I have no place, no name, and no home, but who's complaining? I know I'm not. I don't need an identity to know who I am. I'm me, and that's all there is to it. So why do I want to have a place so goddamn badly?

I tell you why. Everyone needs a position or job in life to be secure. We need friends to fall back on and teachers to guide us. I'm without friends and my parents...well...that's a dark story that I don't want to go into. Some would probably say that the other Gundam Pilots are my friends. God, don't I wish. We're all too busy in our own little worlds to notice anyone else. Our basic day plan consists of this:

1. Get up. Try not to get killed by a PMSing Duo.

2. Eat Quatre's breakfast and try not to throw up before 12 noon.

3. Get mission. 

4. In Duo's case: swear about mission; in Heero's case: form plan to die during mission and make it look like an accident; in Quatre's case: jump around like a freaking idiot and pick flowers; in Wufei's case: make no reaction and say absolutely nothing so long as the trees are brown; in my case: nod.

5. Get home, eat dinner, and go to bed. 

6. Try to go to sleep. Fail. Wow. 

Okay, so why do I sound so sarcastic? It's quite different from who I am to everyone else. I usually know when to shut up and when to say one-word answers. Sometimes...it's just...god. I'm going to bed. Stupid journal.

Dear Journal,                                                                         Date: Still present, though somewhat lighter out.

Today was very interesting. Duo has been planning to get Quatre a boyfriend and find out whether or not Heero is straight. We've all placed bets, and both Wufei and I agree that he's definitely gay. Nobody could wear that many spandex pants and not be gay. Look at what happened to George Michael.

Duo just walked in and gave me an odd look. "What'cha doing?" God, he's annoying. Must he slur all of the English words known to man together? 

"Writing."

"Why?" Why the hell do you think?!! Because I like ink?!?!

"Because, Duo."

"Oh."

Then he moved onto Wufei. I must say, their conversations always make me laugh so hard I have to leave so that no one will see. Here's a bit so you can crack a rib as well.

"What'cha doing, Wufei?" See what I mean? Americans can not speak properly.

"Maxwell..." Ah, the look on Duo's face is priceless. This is the second that he notices that a little more will end him in a trashcan wearing a pink tutu.

"Yes, Wufei?" The puppy face. I *hate* the puppy face.

"Stop."

"Why?"

"Because you're annoying."

"Why?" This game again? Duo will just keeping asking you why until you smack him so hard in the head he sees little birdies dancing around in a bowling alley. With Wufei, this could be very dangerous as he's already like a bomb ready to attack the next living organism he sees. Must be that time of month.

"You ask too many stupid questions!" I look up, getting interested in this entire scene. Quatre just walked in, and then gave a little squeak and ran out again. Heero is sitting next to me, watching as well. You know where Duo and Wufei are.

"Why?"

"Don't. Ask. Me. That. Again."

"Why?"

"Because it angers me!!!!!" Wufei is getting pretty pink. I think he's about to explode...

"Why?" 5....4....3....2.....

"MAXWELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Explosion!!

Duo laughed so hard that Wufei ran after him with a spatula. We weren't in the kitchen, so how the hell did he get a spatula? It is times like these that make me wonder why my roommates are obsessed with inanimate kitchenware. Then I remember that I want to kill myself with a dull spoon.

Journal- Date: I have no idea

The next time someone tells you to be honest, lie. To be perfectly truthful, people don't want your advice. They don't want your opinion and they certainly don't want the truth. That's just the way it is. If someone tries to convince you that they're a person who loves the truth, they're fools. No one wants the truth because lies are a lot easier to handle. You don't have to look at lies. Lies don't crawl into your head at night and shake you awake, whether you want them to or not. Lies just sit there like Jell-O. 

I must say Quatre's pleased with my surplus of writing lately. I've written only three entries and I'm already on his wall of "people who will get Christmas presents because they did what I told them to do". He was practically skipping today when I announced that I was going into my room to be alone. I guess that translated, for Quatre, into: "I'm going into my room to write down all of my deepest secrets and desires". He needs help.

Why haven't I written down my deeper thoughts and such yet? It's because I'd rather keep them buried. My motto is: experience it, bury it, and hope to god you forget it. I don't want to have to think about all of my mistakes every single second. That would drive me to insanity and I don't think that's any easier.

Duo just knocked on my door. There are times that I just wish I could lock myself up in a cupboard and not come out for fifty years so I wouldn't have to deal with him worrying about me. He always worries when I go into my room or shut up, which means he worries ALL OF THE TIME. 

"Trowa, are you okay in there?" His voice is really soft, which is highly unusually for Duo. It's like the spring wind. It rustles by you if you're beside a lake and whispers in your ears coldly, but not too coldly. Everything is perfect then, and it would be fine with Duo's voice if he didn't sound so worried. 

"Yeah, Duo, I'm fine." Lying is the key to everything. If you lie, people feel better thinking that you were honest. They think that if you say it it's true. Where's the logic in that?

"Okay…well, dinner's ready." I could almost hear the smile in his voice. He was happy to know I was still alive, despite the lack of talking and full sentences. He was happy to know that despite everything, I was still here no matter what. I wonder how he'd react if that ever changed? 

"All right, Duo. I'll be out soon." I'm agreeable, and that's why he isn't worried anymore. I tell people what they want to hear so we don't have to go into this big discussion. I don't want a big discussion; I just want to be left alone.

Duo just left again, giving me one last piercing look. God, will he give it up already? I'm _fine_…well, as far as he can tell. I'm not so sure about myself, though.

Dear Journal, Date: Friday, March 28, 2003?

If Quatre asks me if I'm all right one more time I will strangle him. No, I'm not all right, but why the hell must he know? "Because I'm your friend, Trowa," he says. He's my fucking friend?! When the hell did he start caring?! How about the twelfth of never? "It affects me. It hurts me, Trowa, to see you upset." So go take your eyes out and you won't have to watch me anymore.

It's obvious I'm not "peachy" or anything, but there are people out there with worse problems. Pain is pain, I know, but I can deal with mine better. No big fucking deal. I handle my problems without everyone knowing about them, is that so bad? Is that so out of the question that I mind my own business? Oh, wow, now there's a concept.

Jesus. I think I upset Quatre and Duo today with my lack of appropriate answers. 

"Trowa, you've got to smile more."

"Trowa, please don't look so sad."

"Trowa, eat more."

"Trowa, you need to be nicer to Quatre.

"Trowa, what's bugging you?"

"Trowa…" SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't fucking need this. I want to just give up, shut down, and leave town. I'm not going to die like this—not in this place. I will not give in to their pity. I cannot allow myself to wallow in that misery. I need to be okay and if that means locking me away, so be it. 

Sometimes, when I think about it, I realize that I need them to drill me with those questions and commands. I need to know that they care enough to notice the little things about me that change. I bite my lip when I'm alone or upset; I keep my hair in my face to hide the invisible scars; when someone confronts me, I look down and lower my face; I get uncomfortable around adults. If they notice, then I know that they've been watching me; that they've been caring.

Dear Journal, Date: Saturday, March 29, 2003

Life is funny, you know. You think you get everything and then the game changes and you have to start all over again. I'm sitting in the kitchen and everything is finally beautiful. The sun's so bright that I can barely look at the sky and not be blinded. It is days like these that make me realize how small and insignificant I am. I stare outside at the leaves and trees and grass and manage a small, contented smile. I'm happy because I'm staring at pure nothingness. 

We live beside a large river so I can stare outside and be mesmerized by its iridescent glow. Everything is so beautiful that it hurts. I get lost in days like these, only to return when it rains. Rain rips you awake from whatever shadowy sleep you were in, but it's a refreshing tear. The water washes over your body so softly and silkily it's intoxicating. For a brief second, you feel everything rinse away with the seductive droplets and the world is okay. _You're_ okay. That's what I love about the rain and that's what I love about the sun. Warmth and cool—they wash over you and you're okay for a moment in time.

I was sitting outside quietly, just staring out at the horizon as the night closed in on swift wings. Wufei approached and sat down beside me silently. I didn't need to look at him to know that he was there. I can just sense people like that. He has this swift thing going on a lot, so his shadow tells me immediately who he is. It's funny, really.

We don't talk much, if at all. Wufei and I don't need to talk to have a conversation. By just reading one another's expressions, we discuss our day all on our own. If he looks pissed, I leave him alone. If he stays in the dark shadows, I say nothing and merely watch him. It's a great system—much better than talking.

He looked down, and I noticed how bright his eyes are and how pale his skin is. A true man of power, one might say. I would just say 'Wufei' because power means nothing to me. He's the closest person to me because we're not close at all. Ironic, isn't it?

We sat in silence there for a while, both enjoying the pale colors of the night sky and the brilliance of the stars. He can appreciate simple stuff like that without speech and all of that other confusing shit. I just want silence, and that's what he gives me. It's good to be friends with people like him. I can trust Wufei and trust is what I need right now. That and dinner, probably. 

It's amazing: Wufei and I sat there for hours and said not one single word. I can tell that he used to be light-hearted and funny at one point in his life. I'm the only one who knows that as well, excluding Wufei, of course. You can tell a lot about a person by just sitting next to him for a few hours. Duo should try it sometime. Maybe I'll send him out with Quatre and they can "bond". Bond. James Bond. I blame Duo for that.

Dear Journal,                                                                                        Date: Sunday, March 30, 2003

I remember when life used to be so confusing. The war ended and we all were broken. There was nothing left in anyone's eyes. We had won the war, but had lost our own souls. It was a price that we all expected to pay, but no one could've known the pain of being emotionless. Pain isn't an emotion; it's a drug that will never let you go. 

Everything hurt so much that I could barely even breathe. When I ate, it would be only minutes before I threw everything up again. The entire world made me sick. It still does, in fact, but I'm able to contain that inside of me.

You don't know what war is until you witness it. No one alive understands death better than Wufei, Heero, Quatre, Duo, and I. How could anyone? We saw people die left and right and we were the ones killing them. I took lives like someone blinks—it's automatic. I didn't think about anything until afterwards. 

I yearn for a day when I didn't have to see their blood on my hands. I miss that day when I was able to sleep at night and not have to hear their screams. I've had insomnia for most of my life, but never did I have to be haunted by dead soldiers' screams. That's too much, especially when you're the murderer and the best friend.

Quatre gave in first to the insanity and didn't speak for nearly a year. I watched him sit in that corner, shaking with fear and grief. Goosebumps covered his pale skin and his blue eyes were clouded, and yet, at the same time, empty. It was hard on all of us, but Quatre wasn't prepared for that. He's so innocent and naïve that death just came as a shock. 

Duo was the next to give up. He just sat outside alone and barely blinked. I walked into his room once and found myself in a mess of writing and screaming. He had been writing on his walls for hours with a black pen and Quatre freaked. I remember reading, _"Life comes on swift wings. Death comes on even swifter."_ It scared the hell out of all of us; death comes to whom? Was he referring to the Gundam Pilots? He was, and I'll never forget it. 

The worst part was the fact that Duo can't do an ounce of math. He's not a very academic person to begin with, so witnessing monuments of numbers on his white-washed walls was quite a sight. He was in this half-daze when he was doing it, I'm sure. No one could write that much and be fully alive or awake.

So Duo and Quatre broke first. That left Heero, Wufei, and I. The funny thing is that since we were all pretty stable and expectant of death, we didn't break down like the other two. Heero retreated into his room, Wufei wandered about the house, and I turned to drugs and the streets. God only knows how much I took to get rid of the pain.

I'm still on the drugs, but not so much anymore. The other pilots don't know and can never find out. How would they react if they discovered that I had never really gotten off of them? I would be in a center faster than you can say "bye". 

Wufei knew about them for a while, but he never acknowledged the information. Stuff stop filtering through with him, and it's still a bit slow. None of us recovered from that war and none of us ever will. 

The war tore each of us up because we never experienced such confusion and chaos like that. It was overwhelming. Try this: everywhere you look there are dead/dying people with blood and organs surging out of ripped flesh that you slit. Your friends are yelling at you to pull out of your daze and get back to work. You watch the only people you've ever cared about get slashed about by the enemies you could never beat. Everything's a blur of pain, screaming, and death. We didn't need guns. That pandemonium was enough to kill each and every one of our enemies, as well as ourselves. 

I look back on our training from time to time and wish I had just backed away from everything. I didn't need that life, nor did I want it. I just wanted an escape; how could I have not foreseen a life of imprisonment? I lost every emotion I had once had and that was replaced with mechanical stuff. I was a machine in a human's body. I still am.

I wanted a life, not a war. I never wanted loss like that. I could've been somebody—now I'm just a killer without a name. There's nothing worse than a nameless assassin. 

Sometimes at night I hear the other pilots cry out in their troubled sleep. I've been told I talk in my sleep, but never shout. Maybe I manage a whimper or two, but nothing big. 

Tonight it was Heero. He sobbed about Relena; about his friends; about not dying soon enough. It would've been too hard had any of us died in that war. That would just be too much to handle. It's bad enough to deal with a complete stranger's death, but someone you're connected to? 

"No…please…I…wanted to die…let me go…please…" I would go to comfort him, but I know that would be awkward. We don't talk much in general, so how would it be if I came into his room in the middle of the night? It would be uncomfortable and embarrassing. So I just sit here, listening to him moan.

"…Let…them be okay…" This sort of thing tends to happen a lot when Heero has a bad dream. He whines for an hour or so and then falls into a dreamless sleep, never remembering his nightmare. It would be rude for me to mention his whimpering so I don't. How would you feel is someone listened in on you late at night? It would raise eyebrows from Wufei and Quatre would wonder why I was up at that late anyway. I don't want to have to explain it. 

There are talks of rebellion again and destruction. A few fires have been set and that's why I'm recalling the war. Fire blazed in those fields, destroying everything that came into its path. It burned your skin, but erased a lot of memories at the same time. That's what's great about fire: it erases things, making it as if nothing was there before. Once there's destruction, you forget what life was like before that. That's what war is like. Once you fight, you don't know how to stop and remember what living is. You're dead and there's nothing to bring you back from death. Resurrection doesn't exist; the Egyptians were wrong. Life after death couldn't be or I'd be alive right now. I'm not alive, truly, just an empty shell.

I hate them for doing that to me. I didn't deserve to be nothing inside. I didn't earn a life of beauty and glory either, but nobody should be meaningless. Humans were created so they could have a purpose in life, not to be destroyed by the battle of their goddamn life. 

Drugs can drown out that, though. It can drown out the entire world if you let it. Stuff like Ice and Cocaine gives you hallucinations so you aren't even here in reality. You don't need to be; the ecstasy is so engrossing that you get lost in this other world—this fantasy world. War ripped your heart out and stuffed reality in its place, while drugs softly woke you up from Hell and took you up to a fake Heaven. That's what it's like to be addicted.

Tentatively, Quatre once asked me why I didn't talk so much. It was after the war, and he still hadn't recovered from his silent year. Why didn't I talk? The answer is pretty hard to say to someone who had just locked himself away for a very long year. 

"I don't know, Quatre. I just don't." He accepted that and we both moved on, but I'll never forget that moment. The thoughts that ran through my head were hard to handle so I went out after and got high. Everything happens for a reason, I suppose.

It's hard to think about everything that has happened since that catastrophe that historians like to call the "Revolution". I'll give you a fucking revolution. The word revolution summons the image of valiant men riding off to the sun—the heroes of the war. They win and are all good and wonderful in everyone's eyes. Were we that? Were we heroes in everyone's eyes? Were we righteous? The answer is no. We were the very things everyone hated. We _were_ the enemy. We weren't righteous, brave; full of valor. We were nothing. 

When you risk your live for millions of people and the good of mankind, you usually expect some form of gratitude. You expect at least one person to be proud of you. Did I get that? No, I didn't. I got absolutely nothing but hatred, disappointment, and even from the people who had told me to do the very thing I did. I know my logic is screwed up, but is that fair? The people who trained us acted like we had destroyed the universe. We won the fucking war and had lost our own selves in the process. 

Now, looking back on it, the gratitude (or lack thereof) never seemed to bother me. I've dealt with guilt and regret before. But I never wanted to fight this war to begin with. It wasn't mine to fight. 

I didn't deserve to die in that war and then have to go home and bury the people I also had slaughtered. The point of dying is to go swiftly in your sleep and be forgotten, buried in the deep of the earth. That's what death is. When you die, everything ends. Why do you think so many people commit suicide? It's because they can't handle to know that they've barely reached the middle of their story so they end it all. I wish I was that strong, but I'm not. I have to kill myself off with something else so it's indirect. In a sick way, I'm not responsible. I'm the victim. That's all I want to be: the victim. Then I won't have to be murderer, the psycho—the enemy. 

Journal,                                                                                Date: Tuesday, April 1, 2003

A few things have been boiling in our apartment lately. It seems that everyone is getting annoyed with Duo's nonstop talk of girls, music, and whatever. I swear he doesn't really even need someone to talk to. Once I caught him just standing alone in a room, jabbering away. He must have some serious schizophrenia. I believe we shall now call him Schizoid instead of Duo. Schism can be his nickname.

I'm sitting at the kitchen table as it's about 5 AM and everyone else is asleep. Sometimes I just need to be alone without having to lock myself up in my room. It reminds me too much of a prison cell with its four bare, white-washed walls and singular bed; everything in there just screams "Insane Asylum". 

It's amazing writing to you because I never considered myself a journal person. Writing down my personal feelings doesn't exactly appeal to me. Once they're on paper, it's almost impossible to erase them. Sure, you can use an eraser if you wrote with a pencil, but even then you can still make out the words. Besides, I don't want life to be that easy. You can't fix everything with an eraser.

Someone just stirred. I think it was Heero or Wufei, judging by the sore, muffled grunt. Wufei tends to toss in his sleep as well, while Heero merely talks, which may end up killing him anyway.

I sip my bitter coffee silently and stare out of the window, pondering life and existence. I suppose I could go out into town and walk about a bit. We live near the city so life is pretty...well...lively. Everyone is either on their cell phone or pager, trying desperately to hurry to work so they won't be late. It's an interesting sight to watch, especially if you're not one of them.

I pull on my long, black jacket (it's a trench coat, mind you) and head out the door. Birds are chirping and the sun's shining brightly after a long night of rain. Despite all of that, however, the trees look dead. They're naked without the comfort of leaves or buds. Perhaps the flowers are really the three's soul, and the bark is merely the shell. So does that mean they're caught in the winter, empty and broken?

I walk into town quietly, admiring those careless people who are smiling and laughing so happily. A few are kissing and it turns my stomach upside down as I get the desire to do the same thing with a girl I love. Then I remember I don't love anyone, not even my sister.

A small breakfast shop is open with tables out under a sun cover. I order a bagel and some more coffee and sit under the shade, watching cars drive past me and people move about in their daily lives. Today doesn't seem like such a bad day after all, given a few mess-ups or two. It's already 7 so I figure that both Heero and Wufei are up by now, wondering where Trowa went and why he didn't leave a note. It's not that they actually care (because they don't) but they need me to keep them both in check if they decide to fight about politics or philosophy again. Quatre is usually the peacemaker with small squabbles, but he never handles serious stuff like death. He's too naïve, and I think I prefer it that way. If he was any wiser, he would see right through my façade and straight to the drugs. Wufei and Heero don't notice because they're both too busy in their own lives to care.

The coffee burns the roof of my mouth, but I don't notice. I'm telling you my actions so you get who I am. I'm not just the screwy lunatic, locked up inside his head. I can go about and be a normal person as well.

I get home at about 11 so everyone is awake and going about the house. Duo is playing video games, trying frantically to beat the last level of Bounty Hunter; Quatre is in the kitchen, humming and making some food for the day; Heero is sitting on the couch, half-watching Duo die a zillion times, half-writing in his notebook; Wufei is outside in the backyard, reading silently, in the same place we had been a few days before. I guess Quatre heard me come in because he rushed to my side, obviously a bit worried. Whenever I go out he gets worried so I'm not surprised.

"Where were you Trowa? Heero says you weren't here when he got up."

"I went to go get something to eat, Quatre." That appropriately translates into: fuck off.

"Oh." I can tell he's not satisfied with my response, so I decide to end the conversation.

"I got a bagel and some coffee down at that shop on Mary's Street." That pleases him, so I hang up my coat and look down the empty hall, then glance into the living room at Duo.

"DIE YOU EVIL BLOODY SUCKER!! I WILL KILL YOU!!!!! DIE, DIE, DIE!!!" It seems that the creature he is fighting refuses to die. I wonder why. 

Heero is trying not to laugh as he keeps his "stone" face down, not risking another glance at the fanatical Duo. I smile slightly to myself and watch for a time. The thing that's making me smile isn't Duo. It's not his carelessness or his intensity and determination to win; and it certainly is not the video game. It's the fact that everything is okay. We're allowed to smile at something as immature and childish as killing a four-legged monster. We don't have people telling us that it's wrong to have emotions. I have friends telling me it is okay to laugh, to cry; to yell. 

It's situations like these that make me forget everything in my head. I forget the pain, the drugs, even the war. All I remember is that for once in my life I'm happy. For once in my life I'm not alone. 


	2. Mirrors of Lost Hearts

~I've had nothing to do this weekend so I wrote another chapter, right after the second.  I like this one because it shows a more vulnerable Trowa.  Yes, I will add more if people like.  Please review and tell me what you think! ~ 

Chap 3- Mirrors of Lost Hearts

Dear Journal, Date: 4.6.03

I looked into the mirror today. I tend to avoid them because staring at my reflection always fills me with disgust and shame. I'm not like Heero, however. I don't go out of my way to stay away from reflective objects. That would be too obvious and the others would notice. Do I want them to notice? Ha, are you joking? Mirrors…they just bug me sometimes. They reflect what everyone else sees, but is that who I truly am inside? Mirrors don't show the lost, hateful person I am. They don't show the drugs, the death; the pain. They just show my mask—my outer shell. Empty inside, remember? 

My eyes haunt me sometimes. They're forest green, but there's nothing interesting about them. They lack the intensity of Heero's blue, the depth of Wufei's brown, the wonder of Quatre's icy blue, and the charm of Duo's violet. Mine are just plain, empty; nothing. Sometimes that's a good thing and sometimes it's not. It really depends on how you look at it. For example, they show absolutely no emotion. When I'm angry, no one can tell. When I ache inside beyond all possible reason, I look normal. It's just the way it is. Nothing penetrates my outer, fake shell.

Sometimes I worry though. How could anyone not notice? My façade is so thin that I'd bet you when they'd find out and think I'd win. But I never do. No one ever sees through it. Is it because they don't want to? Maybe it's because they don't have the time to; they don't care enough to even look. Life passes you by and only some of us actually make an effort to watch it. Others busy themselves with chores, lovers, etc. It's disgusting really. You only have so much time on this earth and some of us considerably less. Do they even understand that they're wasting valuable time they'll never get back? You don't get second chances. You live and then you die. That's it. Resurrection and rebirth doesn't exist—it was created by some stupid bloke as a prank for April Fools Day. Too bad humanity bought it. It must've been the downfall of my existence. Wahoo.

I missed my chance for redemption a while ago anyway. I should've died that day, but that stupid girl Catherine stopped me. Doesn't she get it? I should've _died_. I wanted to die. I wanted to end it all and not look back. I knew the risks. Everyone knew the risks. Dying is natural. It happens all of the time. You die and then that's it. Sure, some people get hurt, but isn't that part of it? Part of death is acceptance, and the other part is just plain shit. "Don't you get that people care about you?!" Oh please, give me a break. People caring about me? She's on drugs more than I am. I swear to God, if she ever knew—

**She doesn't, Trowa. No one knows. Not even you do. You buried it, remember? Life is one big mind game. So get over it. Move on. No one understands. Not they're fault, it's yours. You dragged them to this. You led them on.**

I hate this. I hate me. I hate that memory. I hate the fact that I was too weak to just press that stupid button. Heero did, so why couldn't I? I'm not even sure if I'm angry at Catherine for stopping me. I wouldn't have done it in the end, so it wasn't really her fault. I was too pathetic to just finish it when I knew I had to. It's a thing called sacrifices, remember? I suppose I'm too fragile, like glass. When I break, I break. Nothing can put me back together. I'm not strong. I'm not brave. I'm absolutely nothing. You never hear soldiers using glass as weapons. They used metal, like iron. Heero's iron and I'm glass. Wow, lucky me. Isn't this fair? I don't know if I mind though. Being glass means that people see right through _me_, not through my façade. They don't see Trowa; they see what's _behind_ Trowa. I don't exist to them. I don't exist to anyone. Do I want that? Is that okay with me? I don't know, really. I never thought about it. I probably never will.

Mirrors are made of glass so maybe that's why I can't stand them. You see yourself, but you see everything else in the picture as well. When looking into a mirror, it's easy to ignore certain stuff and have others be top show. That's all I am. I'm nothing to the rest of the world. I'm nothing to myself. I'm a mirror, reflecting whatever is in my path. Mirrors don't reflect emotions; they don't reflect fear. They reflect objects, eyes; hair. Facial expressions are sometimes there, but never with me. I have no facial expression. Emotions are a loss to me. I've forgotten how to smile; to laugh. Dr. J taught me how to deal with that, but I learned long before him that feelings are a waste of time. They get you in trouble and that's something I don't need.

**I've been a soldier all my life.** I've been nothing all my life.

Journal, Date: 12 AM, 4.6.2003

Have you ever stared outside and gotten lost in an abyss of blue and green and white? It feels like spring but it is winter still because of the cold. I miss spring. I miss life. Okay, maybe not all of life, but some of it I actually liked. Take laughing, for example. Do you know how nice it is to just watch someone laugh? Duo laughs all of the time and I always get the desire to join him, though I never do. Why should I? I forgot how. Laughing is hard to do and I'd rather not ever go there. I prefer to just watch.

I stare outside quietly, watching the day pass me by. Who needs laughing? I'm just happy sitting here, watching the sun. I don't need to express my feelings. No one else is watching anyway.

Wufei came up behind me and sat down in the chair next to where I was sitting beside the window. I didn't look over at him, caught up in staring out at the day beyond my own life's boundaries. Beauty is captured only by the beautiful so it is something beyond my comprehension. Still, I am contented in watching it even I don't understand. 

"Trowa, may I speak to you?" Wufei's voice is unusually uneasy so I look up, despite my own wishes. I don't want him to look at me, not when I feel so empty inside. When putting nothing next to something, the end results can be catastrophic towards the nothingness. Thus, why I feel like utter shit. Take that, modern scientists and psychiatrists of this chaotic, modern-day world. 

"Sure, Wufei, go ahead." What do I care? It doesn't matter to me. Go ahead, Wufei. Try to crack my shell. I'd like to see you try.

"I know." My heart sinks at the sound of those two simple words. To me, they're hell. No, worse than hell. It's like being molested by Michael Jackson. The only thing running through my head is, "oh shit, I'm in trouble now." You couldn't be more right, Trowa.

"Know about what?" Despite my anxiety within, I act normally. I have nothing to worry about, remember? Good old Trowa is stable. I'm fine. No one knows. No one can know.

"Trowa, I know," is all he says. Great, now I'm in deep shit. Why the hell did I listen to Quatre? I shouldn't have ever written anything down. He probably read it. It probably justified his suspicions about my drug habits and suicidal tendencies. Well, isn't this great?

"Know about what, Wufei?" Hey, if he's going to personalize sentences, I might as well reciprocate.

"I know about everything, Trowa." Sometimes I wonder about him. Couldn't he be a little more specific? I don't understand. I want him to just tell me straight out, "Trowa, I know what you're doing to yourself. I know that you love drugs and want to die and have an awful inferiority complex. I know."

"…Everything means what, exactly?" Play it cool, Trowa. He doesn't know anything. Damn, Duo just walked in with Heero and Quatre. I'm in deep shit aren't I? This is going to be one of those confrontations they have on TV. I'm going to be sent off to some rehab place and never going to come back. The cannibals will eat me or something. I'm shot now. 

"Trowa, whatever it is…you know you can tell us, right?" Quatre looks scared as he says that. I don't think he's so sure of himself. He can't handle the truth. I'm supposed to be okay. I'm supposed to be alive. But I'm not and that must hurt to know. Well, at least he sort of understands how I feel. So why do I feel guilty?

"…Right, Quatre…" I don't really want to know anymore. I don't want to be here, sitting with my four sullen friends staring at me with pained eyes. They look like someone just died. Oh, that must be me.

"So, why--" 

"--why the hell are you doing this to yourself, asshole?!!" I guess Quatre was speaking too kindly for Duo so he cut him off. What is he talking about? Is it the drugs, the self-hatred, the burying of problems, the suicidal desires, the lack of sleep—what? 

"Doing what?" I stand, now getting a bit defensive. When someone confronts me, I just put up a shield and do my best to block it all out. I don't need to hear him tell me how horrible a person I am when I tell myself 24/7. Thanks, Duo, but you're a little late in caring. Hell, you all are a little late in just about everything with me.

"Everything, Trowa; don't you get it?! We know! We know about the drugs and the—damnit, everything!" I stand there in silence, staring. I don't know what to say. What would you say? Would you deny it? Well, I can't, can I? They have proof, I bet. In a sick, twisted way I'm happy. I'm happy I got busted. I'm sick of living a lie. It's not the drugs that I hate. It's me. It's me using them for my own sick purposes. **Drugs are used as medicine, asshole. There are people dying out there in Magnolia (or wherever the hell there are poor people) and here you are crying over killing people. Get over it. **I wish I could. I want to just let go of all that. I want to be okay. Guys, are you going to help me? Ha, you've got to be joking. They just want me out so they don't have to feel guilty. They don't want to be the bad guys in this, forcing me to the final method of destruction. Wow, I'm so lucky to have friends like you.

I look down, angry at myself for whatever reason. I must've justified their accusations because I heard Quatre give out a grievous cry and walk away. Great, now he's going to go hang himself. 

"I…I can't believe this." No, Duo, you can't. Why do you think I never told you? It's because none of you could ever handle this. How could you deal with the truth? 

"Trowa, why are you doing this?" That's all Heero could manage, I suppose. I'm not going to give him an answer. Let him figure it out. I grab my journal and walk out silently, not glancing back once. They all run after me but it's too late. I've already pulled my trench coat on and walked outside, not caring if they lock me out or not. I'll live somewhere else. I'll find a drug dealer and room with him. Then I can get high whenever I want.

Wufei ran after me—he's very fast—and grabbed my arm. "Stop, we're trying to help!" I don't want your help. I don't want your pity. I just want to get away from you. Don't you guys get it? I'm trying to run away.

I pull away from his grasp and continue on. Remember what I said before? The key to walking away is to never look back. Take a hint, guys. I didn't live through the war. I barely even lived through breakfast the day before. Now you've gotten a glimpse of the Trowa inside and you guys think you can revitalize me. Make me anew. You can make me stronger. You have the technology; you can make me faster, better than before. Okay, enough of watching Dogma for me.

Somebody tackles me. I groan in pain and look up, seeing a pair of bright, violet eyes stare back at me. Duo tackled me. I should've known. Wufei would've sooner cut his own head off before tackling me. It's just not something he'll do. That and peanut butter. 

"You are not leaving." Wow, did you come up with that all on your own, Duo? I can't exactly leave without the ability to move. It's a small problem, I know, but I prefer the use of my legs to getting smothered. People would usually take this the wrong way, but we're friends. None of us are gay (except maybe Quatre, but I don't even think he's a boy to begin with). Duo just wants to stop me from running away with the only way he knows how: rub my face in the dirt and make sure I can't move or else I'd stab him.

"I –gasp- can't." Ouch, this fucking hurts. Idiot, the drugs aren't killing me—you are. I need to move. I need to breathe. That's what humans do. They breathe.

"Ah, so it worked!" I frown, trying my best to push him off. This isn't a laughing matter. You guys were just yelling at me for using drugs and now you're happy that I'm not leaving? I must be missing something. I manage to shove Duo off and start down the sidewalk. Just run away, Trowa. You'll never see your friends again. Leave that life behind. Start over. 

I hear footsteps and panting behind me but I never look back. That'd slow me down and I can't afford loss of speed. Wufei and Heero are fast so it's a wonder I'm still ahead of them. I need to get away. I need cocaine. Hell, I need a life.

"Trowa, stop it! We just want to help!" Duo pants, behind Wufei and Heero. I don't want their help. I didn't want it then and I surely don't' want it now. They'd have to look deep in my soulless life and see the lack of beauty in me. I'm just ugly and fucked up inside. There's nothing good about me except perhaps the soldier bit. This isn't self-pity either. I've recognized my lack of whatever and moved on. I'm just honest.

I stumble and fall, scraping my knee and my left arm. I break my fall with my left hand and swear in pain. I've nearly died five times and hear I am swearing about a cut up hand. I bet Dr. J would be proud of me now. Not.

**I see the stone set in your eyes.** That's a song. Okay, I've officially lost it. What stone? My eyes are empty, remember? I'm a soulless creature. **I see the thorn twist in your side.** Memories of the war flood back to me. Red pools of silky blood ravage my mind, intoxicating me. I need to get away from this.

Wufei comes up with Heero and kneels down beside me. "Trowa…please…" His voice is hoarse, cracking. I've never seen a vulnerable Wufei and I never want to again. It kills. I don't want to hurt my friends like this, but I can't help it. He touches my arm and I jerk away. Don't touch me. You'll burn your hand.

Heero looks down, hands stuffed in pockets. Quatre walks up behind him and I feel like dying. Let me go. Don't say it, guys. Don't tell me what I think you're going to tell me.

"You need help, Trowa. You're killing yourself." That hurts. No, it kills. I've been told a lot of heartless things in my life and have managed to ignore them. Now, when I hear the first kind thing it breaks me in half. I'm a bastard. Stop fucking caring about me or I'll have to chop your head off. No one cares about me.

"I'm not," I say quietly, looking away. I'm not killing myself. I'm not doing it…am I?

"Then what do you call this?" Life; I call this sappy existence life. It smacks you in the face but at least you know it's there. Overcome your problems. Conquer your grief. Move on. That's what life is. So, what I'm doing is existence. I just exist. That's all this really is. Emotions, love, hatred—that stuff is all part of the great thing called life. Once you remove yourself from that, what's left? Nothing; emptiness; lack of whatever. That's just the way it is.

Please, I don't want to be him. I don't want to look into the mirrors anymore. Can't you see they tear me apart? I'm dying and you guys don't even notice. I need help. I need forgiveness. I hate this fucking feeling inside that slits my throat and drains my blood. It sucks away every emotion I ever owned. I'm thoughtless without purpose and without need.

I'm lost. I hate this new vulnerability about me. I'm tough, remember? I'm okay. Nothing's wrong with me. Quatre, stop crying. Buck up, okay? I'm all right. There's nothing wrong. Duo, why are you looking at me with betrayal in your eyes? I didn't betray you. I didn't do anything to you. I did it to me, and you never cared about that. Nothing's different. Stop it.

Everything's swirling. I can't take this. Let me die alone. One more injection, that's all I need. Just one more and it'll all be over. No one will miss me. My sister—I've never met her. Dr. J just told me there was a possibility she existed. Great, well, she'll never know her brother; her nonexistent brother who doesn't give a fuck. One more injection—just let me have it, please. I can't take the blurriness anymore. I don't know who I am or what I've done. I've done nothing wrong. I just followed orders.

**What orders? The orders that told you to waste your life and throw it down the drain? Are those the orders you're talking about? Stupid Trowa, don't you get it? You don't matter anymore. This isn't your game. You're not the savior of the world. You're not even saving yourself. **Stop it. Just shut up, okay? I don't need to hear you too. I'm not in the mood to play your game. Don't roll the dice because I'm definitely not in the mood to place a bet.

I catch my breath and look away. Make the world stop spinning, God. It hurts to know I may never get another chance at this game. Life isn't a mind game—it's hell. It's absolute hell and the drugs rule over it. My head hurts so badly. What's going on? Why do I taste blood in my mouth? I'm screaming. Please, guys, help me. I need your help now. What's going on? Why is there someone laughing? I don't see anyone. I can barely open my eyes. What's going on?

**"Mission accepted." "I've been a soldier all my life." "How long do you plan to wear that mask that never cries?" **Forever, Miidi, I plan to wear it forever. Soldiers don't cry. The tears will burn my cheeks and rip my flesh. What will be left without my outer shell? I'm empty inside. I don't have enough tears in me to cry. 

"Trowa, answer me! Trowa, come on, buddy! What's going on?" I don't know, Duo. I told you. I don't know what's going on. Why can't you hear me? I'm talking to you. Don't turn away. I haven't done anything wrong. Asshole, don't you get it?! You're not supposed to care! If I died, you'd be okay! You'd be able to go on with your life! Stop acting so surprised! We knew the fucking risks! We knew what was supposed to happen! 

"What's going on, Trowa? What's going on?" 

** I've been a soldier all of my life. **

And then I wake up.


	3. Nothingness

~ Author's Note: Hey!  I'm back with a new spectacular chapter (ha, no.) Anyway, this chapter is somewhat a bit more reflective than the first, and you'll see a lot more interaction between the five Gundam Pilots.  You might, if you're lucky, find out what exactly happened to their mobile suits and such.  Anyway, please comment all and I'll be sure to provide more chapters to come.  Oh, and the bold means it's almost Trowa's alter-ego/inner self telling him to do stuff.  To all those who reviewed: thanks!  I've been working overtime to bring you another chapter.  Sorry about the grammar stuff-I was too busy to read over it.  I know this isn't as long as last time, but I hope you all will review anyway.  There will be more if I ever get time to finish it.  Don't worry. ~

Chapter 2: Nothingness

Journal—                                       Date: April 5, 2003

Take away the pain and the doubt; the hatred and fear; the good, the evil, and the neutral. Take away love and friends; home and war; freedom and slavery. Take away your name; your looks; your personality. If you take away life in general, what's left? Is it nonexistence? What if you're all that's left because you _are_ nothingness? What would it be like to be nothing? I imagine it would be quite nice because you wouldn't be surrounded by something. Being nothing means you are in nothingness. There's no thought, no hurt; no pain. You don't have to bury the dead or mourn the loss of family you barely ever knew. 

Sometimes I find myself pondering over nothing, getting lost in thought of having something. I have no name, no home; no life. I am a robot, waiting to be commanded. Who will command me? Will my dead parents? Will Heero, Duo, Wufei, or Quatre? None of them can or will. Will God? He won't either. God commands those worthy of his attention. God loves only those who love him back. Do I? I've never been one to hate, but he took away my life. It was my life and I kind of needed it. 

It is early afternoon and I'm alone at the house. Duo has a date with some red-hot chick; Quatre went out to see a musical; Heero is out on a walk down the bike path; Wufei has gone to see an action movie. He tried to convince me to go with him, apparently uncomfortable with the idea of me being alone. I think he's onto my certain…er…bad habits. What I mean when I say bad habits is that I am now taking drugs much more religiously than before. There's talk of war and some rebuilding of our mobile suits and—fuck—I just can't take this anymore. 

I don't really understand life to begin with. What's the point? You're born, go through shit, and then die. Sure, there's stuff you experience other than that, but like books, everything ends. There's a beginning, middle, and ending to everyone's life. Maybe you get some sequels if you're lucky; maybe it's a bestseller, but what's the big deal? When it comes down to it, you're no different than the next guy. Whether you win an award or not, people will forget you anyway. When a book's done, it's done. That first impression was made and that's the same with life. You're dead and buried and nothing to the living. It's even worse if you're dead before you're buried.

Maybe I'll just end it today. I'll give up, shut down, and forget life. Screw feelings; I'm tired of being dead and empty and absolutely nothing to the world. I'm tired of drugs and self-hatred. I'm tired of being alone.

Everyone's out in their little worlds and lives, happy to be skipping about and tending to whatever they're tending to (or in Duo's case, whoever he's tending to). Do I even cross their minds? No, I don't, because they all expect me to be here when they get back. I'm always here no matter what. Good, old Trowa and his stable ways. I'd like to see them say that while watching me inject some random drug into my arm. 

I look around the house and sigh. Everything's so peaceful and still that it almost aches to look at it. The bookcase remains untouched and dusted; a monument to Heero's incredible knowledge and achievements. Above it, Wufei's two Japanese swords stand, both dangerous and beautiful at the same time. They sparkle in the pale, falling sunshine and I'm tempted to take one down. I've seen Wufei use them before as he used to practice in the yard to keep his strength and sanity up. I used to like watching him stand there, a powerful symbol of Japanese (is it Chinese?  Oh well.  They're all the bloody same in my opinion) force and bravery. Wufei just has that impression on you.

I turned away from the swords and continued down the hall, trying to keep my mind off of whatever was eating away at my heart. The night was coming quickly and all of the lights were off so I could barely see where I was going except from memory. I love the night sky because that's the perfect example of oblivion. It's a black void that can never be filled, no matter how hard you try. Sure, there are stars out there, but what do they count for? Stars are like fireflies blinking in spring—you see them and then you don't. It's gone in a second until a new one comes along and takes its place; reminds me of life.

I hear the phone ring and weigh out the possibility that it's Quatre, calling to check up on me. I pick up the blasted handle and mutter an annoyed "Hello?" into the receiver. I hate phones.

"Trowa, is that you?" It's Quatre, shockingly enough. He seems a bit worried and distraught, hearing the absent tone of my voice. I should've taken the time to settle down, I suppose, but what can you do?

"Yeah, Quatre, it's me. You just caught me by surprise." Lying is great on the phone because people can't see your expression and tell if you're being honest or not. The manner of which you speak is a small fraction in the picture, but it doesn't really prove anything.

"Oh, okay. I'm just calling to check on you. I should be home in a few hours with everyone else and we all would like to know if you want to go out and get dinner tonight." Since when did everyone plan to go out to dinner and then ask _me_ if I _wanted_ to? I guess it really is April because I never could get that month. Something about it always throws me off. Perhaps it's tax day.

"It's okay with me," I say as nonchalantly as I can. The shock of being asked for my opinion is still taking me a minute to work out. As I said before, the war split us up even more than before. We used to have a bond and now the only thing that's keeping me under this roof is…well…the fact that I'm broke and it's a roof. Plus, I usually don't have to pay for regular stuff like clothes or food or even candy. It helps to have a friend who's a billionaire.

"Great! At 10 meet us outside and we'll all go to the pizza place, okay?" He sounds happy. I must be missing something. Maybe Quatre picked up a guy at the musical with pink tights. Oh yes, pink tights are always a bonus with Quatre. He was ecstatic when he saw Heero come in pinkish spandex. I've never laughed so hard internally.

"Okay, Quatre." **Just agree with him, dimwit. Don't make a big scene or he'll ask what's wrong and then you'll have to "discuss" stuff. You don't want to get everyone involved, do you? Don't be an idiot.**

I sigh and hang up, ignoring the raging voices in my head. The kitchen light is staring down at me as if I was being interrogated for a crime. I try to imagine myself sitting in a dark, bare room with a cruel, fat detective leering at him. He smells like stale donoughts with his gray hair and porky face. I shiver, despite it being just a small fantasy. It was just too real for me to take. I could see myself perfectly.

It's about 8, so I have two hours alone to myself. I could always play video games, but Duo broke _The Two Towers_ when he couldn't beat the fifth level and that's the only game I'm good at. I could always read, but what would I pick? All of the books here I've already read twice. Heero insists on reading a book over and over again until he's mesmerized it. Yeah, he's not very cultural.

I ignore the constant desire to just take up Wufei's sword and cut my fucking head off.  It's hard to say I'm suicidal because I'm not sure if I really want to end my life or not.  I've never gotten straightforward feelings like that. Stuff isn't black and white with me and probably never will be.  Sometimes I'm happy and sometimes I'm not, but it's never all the way.  There's always some part of me that's just lacking complete emotion, which means that the rest of me usually ends up empty as well.  I admire people who can just laugh or cry so carelessly without a second thought.  They _feel_ sad or happy and _experience_ the emotion whether it's bliss or complete hell.  I'd go for both because this limbo thing isn't really working for me.  I wish I didn't have to live in such gray.

          Maybe the reason I feel like I can confide in you is because you don't judge.  You don't react, in fact, so this is really only a one-way thing.  I get absolutely nothing from your side, and while that's mildly depressing, it's also pretty good.  You don't worry, yell, or scream at me.  I don't feel guilty for burdening you with shit because I know you're inanimate and someday I'll just be able to burn you without a second thought.  No pain, you see?  It's a win-win situation in most cases.  Sure, I might not come out alive and sane, but that's acceptable.  No one would really mind, me least of all.

          I better go get ready.  I'm too pale and my hair's a mess so I sincerely doubt that there wouldn't be some questioning about my current state.  I think I might take a shower and scald myself from the burning water.  Wahoo.

Journal,                                                                                                                            Date: 10:30 AM, Saturday, April 5, 2003

          I just got out of the shower and I have a few burn marks on my left arm.  I don't mind because burns are usually pretty easy to ignore.  I dress in baggy, black jeans and loose, blue shirt.  I remember when I used to wear those tight jeans and I always frown at that memory in disgust.  I hated those pants, but there was really nothing else I could wear.  You learn to deal when you lack money and brains. 

          Quatre rang the doorbell as I had locked the door (at his request) and walked in with the rest of the gang.  Their faces were all blushed from the cold, but there was laughter ringing in their eyes.  I could tell that despite the bitter freeze of fall, life was still lively and warm in my comrades' hearts.  Even with their problems, everyone seems to be able to deal with whatever and move on.  They don't bury it deep within themselves.  They _deal_ with it.  

          "Hey, Trowa!  What's up, buddy?" Duo's cheerful voice ripped me out of my melancholy mood and I managed a small, sincere smile.  Despite the constant blabbering and lack of proper grammar, Duo is probably one of the nicest guys you'll ever find.  He just cares about his friends and there's never a question about that.  He'll cheer you up in five seconds flat by only saying two words.  It's a pretty nice gift, especially with guys like me.

          "Nothing much, Duo.  How was your date?" I let them in and close the door behind me, watching my friends relieve themselves of countless jackets and some scarves (in Quatre's case).  

          "It was excellent!  She was such a total babe.  Alas, however, I found myself a bit bored by her drawling voice and lack of interesting topics." This is how Duo talks sometimes to sound important and a "higher" being.  Wufei, Heero, Quatre, and I all snorted with laughter at his sudden properness.  The date must've really sucked because he used one of those fake, pompous English accents that will drive you insane.

          "I'm going to go make hot chocolate and then we can go," Quatre announced before retreating into the brightly lit kitchen.  I heard a few clangs as he got out some pans and searched for a few spoons.  

          As Wufei and Heero went into the living room to retire their obviously sore legs, I was asked by Duo to help him with putting some annoying girl poster up on his wall.  If it's Pamela Anderson again I will kill him, then her.  I cannot stand stupid blonde-haired, big-boobed, ditzy, Baywatch, American—okay, maybe I just can't stand Americans in general.  

          I grabbed the poster from Duo's grasp and studied it.  Hm…it was Star Trek, so I guess I could live with that.  While he jabbered on and on mindlessly, I busied myself with tacking the poster upon his wall.  Everything around me swirls so fast sometimes I find myself dazing out, just to catch my breath.  My life is a whirlwind of my friends, their problems, and my own.  It's no wonder why I can't sleep at night—I'm still caught in that tornado stupid people like to call life.  

          I hate to say this, but people like Duo and Quatre are the reasons I haven't gone out of my mind in misery yet.  Wufei and Heero don't expect anything of me.  I'm the quiet one, and even if I shouted till my throat hurt, they wouldn't notice.  Duo and Quatre--they _need me to talk sometimes.  I have to keep the conversation going or they get worried.  Like if I do one thing differently from what I normally do I'm suddenly suicidal.  Sometimes that's a good thing and sometimes it's just plain annoying.  _

          "So, anyway, buddy, what have you been doing the past couple of hours?"  It takes me a minute to actually get what he asked me because I was so caught up in my own thoughts.  I suppose zoning out can have its downs as well.

          "Oh…took a shower.  That's about it." **Give him a regular answer that he won't question you.  Don't sound suspicious or hurt or upset unless you want to get yourself sent to an institution.  Yeah, I didn't think so.**

          "Took you a while," He said with a cheeky grin and I managed a cocky smile in return.  My back was to him as I finished putting up the poster and hopped down from my stool.  I'm not sure why he wanted my help because he could have easily done it himself.  Am I missing something here?  

          "Well…I'm done." I grabbed the stool and headed out of Duo's room without a glance back.  The key to walking away from someone or something is just to walk away.  Don't get tangled up in all of the shit that goes along with letting go.  Once you're gone, it's over.  There's no turning back.  It's like throwing something into the ocean.  The tide just takes that bit away.  It still exists, but it's no longer in your life.  It's no longer in your mind.

          Life is a lot like the ocean, in fact.  Sometimes it's a monstrous catastrophe that'll drive you out of your mind, and sometimes it's as calm and as peaceful as the morning wind.  Unfortunately, if you get landed with a tsunami, it could get pretty ugly for you.  Glad I don't live near the ocean.  Have you ever noticed that bad times tend to happen in shifts?  Every awful thing you could ever possibly imagine tends to happen with those other horrible things you didn't expect.  Stuff comes in packages, and I suppose it works the same way with life.  Maybe God just likes to be organized?

          I walk out to the dining room, only to find myself watching four people who generally care about each other.  It's always been Heero, Wufei, and Duo, plus Quatre who is everyone's friend.  It's hard when you're not a part of that.  They all have been friends longer; have liked each other more; they all just seem to fit.  It doesn't really help me, but at least I get to watch.  I'm an observer, which means that I'm generally watching life pass me by instead of jumping in head first like some other people (*cough* Duo! *cough*).

          "Ow!  Duo, you burnt me!"

          "Sorry!  Didn't know that your hand.  Well, glad it wasn't mine."

          "Damnit, Duo!"

          I laugh quietly to myself and turn away, leaning up against the wall in the shadows.  Wufei and Duo went on arguing, but I'm done listening.  Did I really have a place with them?  I was just the peacemaker; the listener.  I wasn't the _friend.  And Heero—why does it hurt so much to know that even he is winning in life?  Heero has everything going for him.  He's smart, possibly funny, and the "perfect soldier".  Am I perfect at anything?  No.  I used to be able to draw and play guitar, but I gave those up years ago.  Passion was lacking in my life so I just decided that trivial things like music and art were things only kids did.  I was just 13, too._

          I can't envision any other life.  I know my existence hasn't been the easiest to live through, but I don't want it to be painless to begin with.  How else could I evolve into the fucked up state I'm in now?  If my life had turned out any other way, I'd be one of those preppy assholes that can't tell left from right.  I still can't, but at least I'm not preppy.  I'm not quite sure what I am, though.  Am I gothic?  I like black, sure, but I don't go around worshipping Satan.  That would mean I'd be worshipping Wufei, and, ha, no, I wouldn't ever do that.  He'd probably flay me for even suggesting it.

          Am I nerdy?  To be nerdy, that indicates that I would to be smart and…I'm not.  Not really, at least.  I'm perceptive, but that doesn't really count.  I stink at math and can't write for the life of me.  My scientific knowledge is absolutely shot and foreign languages—must I even start?  Besides, I can hold my own.  Nerds tend to be a bit wimpy, and while I'm not the toughest person you'll ever meet, I'm not the kid that'll be getting wedgies anytime soon either.

          So what the hell am I?  I don't know.  Everyone else has a place in life and especially here in this group.  There's room for each and every pilot except me.  Too many quiet people, I think.  Heero beat me to the broody, self-tormented thing; Wufei already stole the "I don't give a damn" image so there's really nothing left for me.  I could never pull a Duo nor could I be compassionate like Quatre.  I'm Trowa, and obviously there's no room for him, whoever the hell he is.  I don't think I even know.

          Duo announces that it's time to head off so we all pulls on our jackets, hats, etc. and head out of the door into the wide world of whatever.  The bittersweet wind nips at my cold flesh as I take a step down from the porch.  Bright lights seer my already tired eyes and yet I don't seem to notice.  I'm caught between heaven and hell.  Everything is so great and cool that I think I might just commit suicide because of the inferiority (just kidding).  

          We all start walking down the silent street, laughing and talking as we go.  Duo's trying to convince Wufei that movies should be seen, not heard (yeah, I know, it's fucked up); while Quatre and Heero are arguing about God knows what.  I'm just walk in silence, listening sometimes and others watching the world pass me by.  

          We reach town in a matter of minutes and I find myself amidst a world of screaming and laughing, kissing and running; hating and loving.  Cars beep irritably as restaurant owners take orders from the take-out window.  Everything's so fast and blurry I begin to feel dizzy from either nausea or anxiety.  I can't tell which.

          We sit down at a small pizza parlor and order two large pizzas: pepperoni and cheese.  I smile to myself quietly and feel for the first time happy.  Nothing in my head is saying something to contrary.  My friends are here, great food is coming, and life isn't so bad because I'm not killing anyone.  Maybe I don't have a place with these people.  Maybe I do.  I guess I'll just have to stick around to find out.


	4. Epilogue

Dear Journal, one last time,                                                                                                         Date: The Past, The Present, and the Future

Music, in an odd way, can depress you very quickly.  All you have to hear is about three notes and you're back to the place you started, the place that has haunted you all your life.  You stomach drops, swelling with a mixture of deep anguish and rage, and your eyes burn with the thought of shedding betraying tears.  The only thing you can think about is that one mistake you made, and the entire string of events that followed it, each one worse than the previous.  It's a horrible damaging cycle, one that has replayed itself in my life time and time again.

Here I am once more, sitting in a chair, listening to the sound of pipes playing softly, singing a song that has been forgotten over the years and lost to the depths of the truth.  I'm thinking about all of my mistakes, everything I've done to destroy everyone I've ever loved or cared for.  It was all a mistake, granted, but it happened and there's no way to turn back the clock and go back to the way it was before.  If things like that could be done so easily, I would've done it a very long time ago.  But, life doesn't work that way, unfortunately.  Like a ship, it swims ahead, never stopping until it's reached its final destination.  I haven't figured out what mine is yet, but I can imagine it's better than the multiple Hells I've been through.  Anything could be better than them, and I've luckily seen enough to make that statement and know it to be true.  Not a lot of people can do that.

I do regret hurting my four other friends, I regret becoming a soldier, and I regret betraying the mercenaries back in my early childhood.  It was my stupidity that landed me in such a place as this, and it was my own blindness that made me hurt those that I had cared about.  I didn't love those mercenaries, no, but I knew of no one else that could take care of me.  Perhaps their care wasn't essentially one of great kindness, but it provided a life.  That's all I've ever wanted—I've wanted a life, a place, a position in society so that I may not be looked down as merely a killer or merely a homicidal maniac.  As nice of titles as these are, I don't think they truly fit me.  Or, maybe this is a simple attempt to restore my once rock-solid dignity, so perhaps I really am just another murderer.  I've hear it happens a lot: people often find themselves in the midst of an inner conflict, one that either tears them apart for the rest of their lives, or teaches them something.  I'm not entirely sure I want the previous versus the latter, but it's not something I'm going to worry about right now. 

In life, there are truly two kinds of people, I've found: those that completely and utterly understand emotion, and those who don't have a clue what it is.  I'm the latter, if you haven't guessed.  Apathy isn't so much the misunderstanding of emotion, as it is the devoid of every single piece of humanity.  It's the lacking of it, the emptiness of it.  And while there are those that are apathetic and barren inside, it's rarer that there are those that just don't understand the point.  I don't know what passion is, nor do I think I will ever.  Those that do are blessed, because they have the luxury of feeling something, whether it be the warmth of happiness or cold of grief, and they at least have that to fall upon when there's very little else.  Empathy cannot die unless the being wishes it to, and then it can only return by the person's will, at his or her calling.  It's a simple fact that cannot be ignored, though I know of those that have done a decent job of trying (*cough* Heero!).  

            It's a bittersweet ending, come to think of it.  My life is one big tragedy in its own way, and I'm not sure if I like it or not.  To be perfectly honest, I'm not quite sure of a lot of things.  Then again, I like to keep my options open so that can't necessarily such a horrible thing.  Can it?  It's hard, though.  Even my best friend is surer of himself than I.  Wufei has values, has dreams, and has goals.  He may be unsure of his life or how he truly is, but he does have the guidelines there to keep him on track.  Duo has his past to guide him, his mistakes to set forth and brighten the way.  That may seem dark and moody, but it is something to hold onto, and by god he has a strong grip.  Quatre, while he is innocent and far too naïve has something we all lack at times: an understanding towards the human nature.  As if that weren't enough, he also has a heart of gold, and a love for life that can only be surpassed by his determination to please.  And Heero, funnily enough, has emotions and craving for them.  You'd think that he'd hate himself for it, but he doesn't.  He has his emotions, understands them, and sometimes even puts them to good use, if you could believe it.  No?  I guess you can't.  Oh well, I did try, didn't I?

            I'm living with Wufei for a while now, hoping to get my life back together.  We share an apartment in London; a place where we both decided would be good for us.  Supposedly, I hear, it's the international capital of the world.  He liked the idea of that, and I'm not picky so I didn't mind.  Duo and Heero live just down the street from us so we see them everyday, and Quatre tends to visit every weekend.  I must say, I like this arrangement quite a bit.  Everything, at the moment, is falling into place and I rarely have time to dwell on whatever is going through my mind.  Day by day, I'm doing normal stuff: yelling at Duo, telling Wufei I'll kill him for being a messy bastard, going to work, getting paid—you know the usual stuff.  

And if you were wondering, no, that wasn't a dream.  It was a memory.  I woke up, only to find myself in a hospital bed in a rehabilitation center, with the lingering smell of pills and bright lights peering down upon me.  I didn't like that place one bit, in the entire 28 days I spent there.  However, we did watch that movie and I found it quite funny.  Who knew that rehab had horses?  I sure didn't.  

Come to think of it, there are a lot of things I don't understand.  Coffee, for example, is the most confusing thing on earth.  Why in the world would anyone drink it?  It's disgusting.  And gross.  And I'm going to stop now before I get on a rant.  

Well, what else can I say?  I suppose there's nothing, really.  Life goes on, as someone once told me.  So as I sit here, listening to those pipes sound out softly from a small distance, I have to smile to myself.  Music does take you to that place, I admit, but I'm not afraid to go there anymore.  I'm just…apprehensive.  Why, may you ask?  Because I understand now: life isn't what it seems, but then again, neither am I.


End file.
